***Cowboy Bebop and all of it's characters are the property of someone else. So is the song "Plantes ante Nescia" the translation of which can be found at the bottom of the fic.
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Solem privas lumine
There is no sunrise in space. She awakens in darkness.
It's appropriate, she reflects as she takes a shower.
Quomodo luceret
There's always hot water, now. It feels good against her skin. Water gives life, she remembers, but when she opens her mouth, it tastes of heat and metal. Sterile. Dead.
She doesn't close it.
The water turns cold, and she steps out. Stands in front of the mirror. She is beautiful.
She sings to her reflection. She's always singing, now; high soprano echoing through the cold metal corridors of the ship.
She sings for joy, she thinks, because she can now.
He never liked her voice.
She starts the song again.
Plantes ante nescia
Outside, it's dark. Again. Still. She decides that she wants to sleep.
Planctu lassor anxia
Jet wakes her, won't let her sleep. "I'm worried about you". He says. He offers her food: bell peppers and beef. There's always food now, too. Fewer mouths to feed.
She smashes the plate to the floor, then cuts her hands picking up the shards. Her blood spots the floor, staining it scarlet.
Crucior dolore
She decides that it feels good to bleed.
"I'm sorry" she tells Jet later, piling the pieces of the plate neatly in front of him. They look pretty, she realizes. White and red. Snow and roses. Glass and blood.
Jet swears when he sees her hands. He's angry.
She was angry, too, when he left. She isn't now.
She sings.
Utinam sic doleam
She sang for him once, as she tended his wounds. Now, she sings for Jet as he tends hers.
Ut dolore peream
Jet smiles, and pats her hand awkwardly as he finishes.
"It's always darkest before the dawn", he tells her.
It's meant to be reassuring, she thinks, so she nods, and smiles once.
Jet looks pleased.
Nam plus est dolori
There is no sunrise in space.
Sine morte mori
Halfway out the door, Jet stops, turns back to look at her. "You know, you never sang, before…" his voice trails off.
"It's pretty." He finishes lamely.
She smiles. "Spike taught me this song".
Quam perire citius
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Translation:
How can the sun shine
When you have taken away it's light?
Once I knew no grief-
Now grief exhausts me to distraction
Pain torments me
Oh, that I might die
Of grief
For a living death
Is more grievous
Than a swift end
"Plantes Ante Nescia", Carmina Burana